To be, or not to be,that is the point!
by Konoe3
Summary: England noticed that in tough times of economical crisis, another thing had been bothering America...hints of USUK , part 2 yet to be done  btw, the title comes from the original Shakespeare, even though 'point' was later replaced by 'question'
1. part one

**Hey you guys! Sooo...I like totally got this idea from who-knows-where...and I got it done , it's not done though. There will be part 2 coming pretty soon. My first time writing something with that darker, serious, and emo side of our dear America. Well, I hope you enjoy reading, I'm taking any corrections or advices, regarding language('cos I'm not native speaker) or regarding story. So please leave the review with your suggestions, ideas, opinios...with whatever you feel like writing. Thank you!**

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><p>England had always known America well. The best of all, he'd say. So of course he had noticed something have been going on with usually cheerful nation. Not that America hadn't been cheerful. He was. But England could have sworn there was something different, no…strange with young blonde. Something he had been forcefully hiding from others. Including England himself.<p>

Hell he did knew that USA had been in 'deep shit', how America himself was calling his bad economical situation. But his-father-brother-like person, England, could tell there was another thing bothering America. And if the git wasn't going to tell, he'd just have to ask himself.

So, after one especially boring meeting, he waited for others to leave and then approached his former colony.

''America, wait up please.''

Blue eyes behind glasses surprised looked at the British nation.

''Sure. What's up England? '' he asked casually, folding some papers into his bag. England wasn't sure how to ask, so he just decided to go to the main topic immediately.

Not that he actually did it.

''How have you been lately?'' he asked, stuttering awkwardly. But he convinced himself that any proper gentleman should ask this before turning to the main subject of conversation.

America just blinked, not smiling.

''Why are you asking? Wanna chat 'bout the weather or what? You know damn well how I've been doin'!''

That was the first ''base'', would say England later, recalling the conversation. America had always been straightforward, but to have him respond like that was certainly unusual. England furrowed his oversized eyebrows.

''I mean you, America. You.'' He clarified. Surprisingly enough, American laughed. But not his well-known heroic laughter, but a rather sarcastic one.

Base two.

''Me? Who's that?'' he pointed out his thoughts with a suddenly chilling look probing England, who swallowed hardly. What was meaning of this?

''What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?''

''Nope. I've actually no idea who I am…''

That left the island nation shocked. Was there another civil war happening in the States?

''…or what I am.'' Added America quietly. England's green orbs carefully scanned the nation in front of him, desperately trying to find some clue, the slightest hint of what was going on.

''Explain.'' He said finally. America sighed.

''Recently, I've been wondering. What are we?'', he looked at his hand, moving fingers,'' I mean…we are made of bones, flash and blood. We feel cold, hunger, we can bleed. Even die. We're not gods.''

England stayed quiet. This was getting quite disturbing. What has happened with the America he knew, the one that didn't really care about anything else that heroic acts, hamburgers and console games? He did not know, just waiting for America to continue.

''..but, as you know, we don't really age. We just expand, grow. Our health, feelings, even physical state are affected by our people, our country. Hence, we're not humans either. 'he dropped his hand and looked directly into older nation's eyes.

''Makes us pretty messed up creatures of nature, hm?''

England stood there, breathlessly, terrified for a moment. What happened to his little boy? America, of all people…no, of all nations, having these thoughts…it was his duty to make that young nations feel better. To comfort him, to clear his clouded mind and soul.

''We're nations, America. We were made to be just what you described. That's who we are. That's your answer.''

The teen was unsatisfied with that kind of answer though.

''That's bullshit and you know it! …that's who we are? Like if! Haven't you ever felt that emptiness, like you don't belong anywhere? We are? No, we're not!'' his voice was loud, but shaking slightly.

''We have no real life. We don't have a real family, real job , heck, we don't even have real names!''

As much as he was confused and shocked, England have to admit that America was right. Partially. He had felt like this before. But that was long ago. Too many years ago for him to actually care anymore.

''We are born to be nations. We're personification of all of our people. Of their hearts, thoughts, fears. We live for them. Isn't that enough for you?''

''No! It isn't!'' America snapped at him.

'' I want to live for myself! I want to sing our anthem in the crowd with them …'', he put his palm on his chest, just where his heart was,'' and then go home to my own family. Live everyday life, for a few decades, not for fuckin' centuries!'' he sounded as desperate as England felt right now. He knew that almost every country had this kind of thoughts and feelings from time to time, yet he felt like he was unable to relieve the burden of America's shoulders. And just when he opened his mouth to say something-maybe comforting words- it was too late.

''To be, or not to be; that's the point…'' told him America, then he took his bag, passed by England, and stopped in front of the door.

'',..and we're not…'' he repeated his words from earlier and stormed out of the room.

It took England a few minutes to comprehend what had just happen. Still, he didn't believe it. And later on, he came to the conclusion that America had solved this himself, since he was appearing just normally on every of the (often) occasions he saw him. It laid his mind to peace.

Only for it to be paralyzed even more, by what had yet to come.

**-to be continued-**


	2. part two

England has always known America well. He had seen him growing up, getting stronger, breaking free and then raising up to superpower. He didn't ever expect to see him fall.

Fall this hard.

It was cold night of November. England was sitting in his study, reading one his novels and sipping black tea from his favourite cup from dark green porcelain with mullein pattern. He was going to sleep soon, partly because of the comfy chair he was sitting in, partly because it was late and partly it was fault of yellow light from his lamp that he couldn't read properly. Yet he enjoyed those little moments of peace, when he could spend off his 'nation' part and just be...human.

Slowly turning pages of the novel, not even noticing what he was reading anymore, he drifted to not so peaceful sleep.

He was woken up by door bell ringing. He blinked sleepily and looked at the clock on the shelf. Who could it be this late? Wondering that, he slowly got up, slipping in his slippers and went to open the door. He shivered slightly when entering the cold hall, and look through the door peephole. Then he quickly opened the door.

''America, just what are you do-'' he started, but then somehow lost his voice when his former colony looked at him with such eyes. England would never forget that look, as it was craved deep into his memory.

''Can I come in?'' asked Northern country quietly, somehow...dryly. England would later tell himself he should have noticed something was off. Really off. America never asked for permission to enter, he just did.

And he had keys from England's house.

So he took him in, poured him some tea and scanned his fellow nation. He looked worn out. Bags under eyes, tired features. His glasses were smudged. His hair somehow greasy. And he was thinner, definitely much thinner.

''America, what's going on?'' he asked quietly, feeling the urge to help him. To be a hero at least this once.

''It's the end, England.'' He whispered softly. England noticed his hands were trembling, so without hesitation reached and held his hand in his own.

''What are you talking about? What end?''

''My end. I... I can't take it any longer.''

''America...''

England often wished he could say something better in that moment. Yet he couldn't. He watched America to stood up and examine his library, shelves filled with various books.

''I'm disappearing. Just like Roman Empire did. Like Antic Greece did. It's the end of my era.'' He said, and propped against the shelves to not fall on the ground. England quickly stood up and held him, putting him slowly to sit on the floor, in his own embrace.

''Shh...it's not that bad with you.'' He cooed in his ear quietly. America stayed quiet for a few minutes, before slowly raising his hand.

England gulped. It looked somehow,...transparent.

''A-america...'' he wanted to ask what was happening with other, how he could help, but the other stopped him.

''That's not my name.''

''What do you mean? You are America...''

America shook his head and took a deep breath, although that to England it seemed a little shallow. He grabbed America's hand, noticing just how cold it was. That shocked him. He always remember him being warm, smiling, sunny. Not this.

''That's not my name.''

After the American repeated it, England suddenly remembered the weird conversation he had with America once. About being someone, not something. He realized.

''What's your name then?''

He did not reply immediately, swallowing hard.

''I hoped you'd give me one...'' he whispered finally in weak voice. England was, must to say, surprised. When he thought about it later, he realized he hadn't had any idea back then, and if he knew, he'd think it more. But in that moment, quickly scanning over the books in his sight, and picking the name that seemed most suitable for nation...no, person in his arms.

''Alfred. You are Alfred.'' He said softly to his former charge. America –Alfred shifted more comfortably.

''Thank you...'' he said, just to be interrupted.

''Arthur.''

Alfred looked up to him weakly, with question in his eyes.

''My name is Arthur.'' He explained. He didn't know why he chose that name back then, but during days after he'd have realized it might be because of famous King Arthur. Or because it fit well with Alfred. Who knows.

''What were you reading?'' he asked quietly, holding onto England. The said man smiled.

'' Just some light novel before sleeping.''

''I see. Will you read it to me?''

And he read. He spoke quietly, taking deep breaths, articulating in his perfect British accent. He couldn't help but remember how he used to read stories to Am-Alfred when he was just a little colony. He couldn't help but remember all those times spent together. Remember past.

And he couldn't help but realize there was no future.

As he continued, flipping page by page, the weight on his body was becoming lighter and lighter.

And he read.

He didn't notice tears falling onto the paper until cold hand touched his cheek and wiped them away.

''Don't cry because of me...Artie.''

''Don't immediately make silly nicknames of my name.'' England chuckled.

Those were their last exchanged words.

Half an hour later United States of America vanished from the embrace of his beloved England, leaving him all alone sitting on the floor of his study, painful tears soaking into paper of the novel England later swore not to touch ever again.

He'd remember him still. Alfred, that is.

...

**Whoa, I suck at endings. I really do.**

**Hope you don't hate it.**


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